


The Witch's Son

by InkandOwl



Category: Original Work
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining, Slow Burn, Witchcraft, village witch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-15 01:13:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11220174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkandOwl/pseuds/InkandOwl
Summary: Theo is the son of the village witch.  Despite their service, the town sees the pair as misfits to their traditional ways.  When the local florists nephew, Peter, moves into town, he doesn't care what the villagers have to say about Theo. He's intrigued by him, and his curiosity turns into a cautious friendship.Theo- ever the careful one about his interactions with people in town- however, finds himself in love.





	1. Sunflower Seeds

**Author's Note:**

> This story comes from the beginning iterations of my webcomic 'Quinn, Dreaming'. The webcomic became modern times and completely different all together, but the origin of the story was always something I wanted to continue writing. This is really fun for me to venture into, and I hope you all love Theo and Peter as much as I do.

A slow heat curls inside their house, creeping through the wide gap at the foot of the front door and settling like a lazy house cat in the kitchen. Theo wipes the sweat from his brow and sets a basket of lavender on the table. His mother doesn’t look up, just mutters to herself and skims her finger along the lines of her favorite spell book. She’s not very old, but her prematurely grey hair, piled messy on top of her head gives her the appearance of aged weariness. 

“Are you almost done with this batch? It’s sweltering in here, and we’re running out of firewood.” Theo tries not to make a habit of complaining to her too much, but his arms are tired from work and he wants to crack a window. 

His mother smiles kindly at him and strokes his arm, “Just another hour. The English Ivy didn’t settle properly and it needs extra time to brew.”

Theo nods, collects the used rags of the wooden tabletop and drops them into the laundry basket near the fireplace. As he gathers the basket on his hip and makes his way into their backyard, he catches a glimpse of a few village children doing a poor job of hiding behind a thicket of roses. “Shouldn’t you be getting home for dinner?” He calls out, not looking up at them. There’s a stirring as they poke their heads out. 

A boy, taller than the other two, and just bolder, lifts his chin, “We’re allowed to be out here too, you know.” He says, voice full of false bravado. 

Theo huffs out a laugh, pressing dirty linens into the water basin, “Well, of course you are!” He knows he’s nothing intimidating to look at. No taller than the average eighteen year old, and erring on the side of just too skinny. He’s been told he has pretty eyes, round and soft like a girls. Not the terrifying offspring of the village witch and the devil himself. The truth was that Theo’s real father was a local pharmacist that had passed from a plague, but that particular truth had none of the romance of a ritualistic pact. “You see, it’s almost _my_ dinner time.”

The boy faltered in the bushes and the two others crowded away from him. He narrowed his eyes at Theo, “So?”

Theo took a step towards him and smiled, “So, i’m glad you made it in time. I’m starving.” 

He thinks the boy might actually say something back, the headstrong young man that he is, but once Theo gets close enough, he takes off screaming with his friends back towards the village. He laughs and turns back towards his laundry, dragging out a series of trousers. 

“That wasn’t very nice.” The voice sends a chill through Theo despite the heat. 

He’s never seen this boy before, and he knows everyone in the village. The boy is tall, with broad shoulders and warm brown eyes. He frowns at Theo. “Get out of my yard.” He tells him, forgoing a greeting. 

The boy rolls his eyes and reaches into the pocket of the apron he has folded down at his waist. “I need seeds for sunflowers. Ours died in the winter and we weren’t able to salvage any of them.” He produces three silver pieces and steps into Theo’s space like he isn’t the witch’s son. 

Theo grips the bedsheets in his hand tighter and narrows his eyes, “Who are you? And what do you need sunflowers for?” 

The boy laughs, light and carefree as if they’re old friends, “And now _I’m_ being rude.” He wipes his hand on his apron like it’s particularly dirty and offers it out for Theo to shake, “I’m Peter, I’m the florist.” 

“No you’re not.” Theo’s eyes flick from Peter’s extended hand to his ridiculous, earnest face, “Mrs. Love is the florist.” 

Peter doesn’t seem the type capable of lying, and he tilts his head to the side, “She’s my aunt. I moved in with them last weekend. Didn’t want to carry on with my dad’s business, I’ve always had more of an interest in flowers.” He grins like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “What’s your name?” 

Cold indifference shutters around Theo then. He’s not about to give over a part of himself to a townie that will hear soon enough about him and his unholy existence, “No.” He says and grabs the silver out of Peter’s hand, “Sunflowers are four silver pieces, but I’ll let you have them this time.” He mutters, trailing up to his porch to collect the seeds into a pocket of linen. 

He drops them into Peter’s hand and turns his back on him quickly. “Theo!” His name on Peter’s tongue makes the hair stand on the back of his neck and he glances over his shoulder to scowl at him, “Thank you for the seeds.” He holds up the bag, “I don’t care what they say about you.” 

It’s spoken with a kindness that only exists in the ignorant and Theo grits his teeth, “Maybe what they say is true.” He bites out and drags his basket inside, not caring that he isn’t done with the cleaning. 

His mother is perched up next to the fireplace when Theo comes inside, scratching their fat orange tabby cat, Agravaine, until he arches his butt high in the air. “You’re done already?” She says, not looking up from the bottle brush tail flicking in front of her face.

Theo holds up a closed fist, “Mrs. Love’s nephew came by. Wanted to buy some sunflower seeds.” He drops the three silver pieces in his mother’s lap, disturbing Agravaine in the process. She regards the silver with a raised eyebrow, “He’s new in town, he didn’t know the price. I told him he could have it this time.” 

She watches him softly, a sadness in her grey eyes that often makes an appearance when she looks at her son, “Was he nice to you?”

He knows that she wants more for him. His magic is nothing like hers, and he could move away to a new town and live like everyone else. No one would know he’s nothing more than a witch’s son. “It doesn’t matter, mom.” He sits down next to her and lets her push her finger through his unruly black hair, “He was annoying.” He wrinkles his nose and she laughs, pressing a kiss to his forehead. 

“You can make friends sometimes, Theo. You might even have fun.” She’s teasing, but he can hear the pain in her voice.

He wrinkles his nose at her, “Sounds exhausting.” He bumps his shoulder into her, “Besides, I have you.”


	2. Unpolished Buckhorn

There’s a main road that runs into town, and two side roads that cut through the Sanderson’s farm land. Theo takes none of these when he has to make his way into the guts of Little Sleep. He opts instead to cut through the woods and past the schoolhouse when the children are already out for the day, scarf wrapped around his nose despite the heat. 

Everyone knows who he is despite the haphazard disguise, and he receives a few cautious nods when he’s forced to contend with the main road. “Theo!” Rosaline’s voice cuts through the evening air and Theo grins despite himself. 

Her bright orange hair flies wildly behind her as she throws herself into Theo’s arms. She’s a tiny thing, even for a seven year old, and she practically climbs Theo in an attempt to kiss the bridge of his nose. “You didn’t visit me last week like you said you would.” She frowns impressively. Rosaline is an orphan, sent to Little Sleep after her parents died, to live with her grandparents. In a string of uncommonly unlucky events, her grandmother passed away in the same plague that had claimed Theo’s father. It left the little girl alone with her blind and deaf grandfather. Rosaline is the only person in town that Theo finds himself caring about.

“I’m sorry, darling, I caught a terrible cold last week.” Theo carries her a few feet before setting her down on the dusty road. 

Rosaline huffs, “Should’ve visited anyway.” 

“I was disgusting, I would’ve gotten snot all over you.” He tells her and give an exaggerated sniff to prove his point. 

Rosaline giggles and screeches when Theo rubs his nose in the crook of her neck. “And what has this poor child done to deserve your contagion?”

The familiarity of the voice make Theo grit his teeth and he turns to scowl at Peter, the nosy florist. He has his apron on properly for once and keeps a broom held firmly in his grip. “Can I help you?” Theo says, none too kindly. 

Peter’s eyebrows raise slightly, “I should be asking you the same.” He nods his head back towards the shop. They’re standing in front of Love’s Flowers, and Theo feels his cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

“Well-” Theo wrinkles his nose, “No. You can’t help me.” It’s a terrible comeback and Theo wants to push Peter into the dirt, not unlike a school boy, and flee the scene. 

Rosaline tugs on Theo’s sleeve until he leans down and she can whisper in his ear, “That’s Peter, he’s my friend now too.” She tells him earnestly, and Theo wants to roll his eyes, “Please be nice to him.” 

Of course, Rosaline’s version of whispering is obscenely loud, and Peter smiles kindly, “I’m not so bad, I promise.” 

Theo’s head swims with the memories of the last boy that had promised him any sort of companionship. The cruel way he had laughed when the other kids had hurt him with their words, and their fists. How they had hurt his mother. “Certainly.” Theo says, clipped and cautious. He sees himself out of Peter’s presence with a curt nod and takes Rosaline’s hand in his own and walks with her towards the haberdasher’s. 

She must sense that Theo doesn’t want to talk about Peter, or any of the boys in town for that matter, because she assesses him quietly for a moment before telling him about the puppies that the stray behind their home had. Mr. Singer greets the two of them dismissively when they come into his shop, grunting before looking back to a pair of boots he’s mending. Theo suspects he feels equally contentious about everyone he sees, and doesn’t take it personally. 

Rosaline sets herself about the shop to inspect each and every ribbon that Mr. Singer has to offer, and Theo situates himself at the counter. “Evening, Mr. Singer.” He says and Singer grunts in acknowledgement.

“What do you need today, witch.” Mr. Singer says ‘witch’ like it’s a title that bears the same weight as ‘murderer’ or ‘leper’. Theo’s skin itches with shame and he can feel the presence of someone standing behind him, making his interaction with the haberdasher that much more unbearable. 

Theo swallows, “Unpolished buckhorn, please.” It’s painful to use niceties with a man that would rather see him burned at the stake. 

He assesses Theo for a moment, eyes narrowed over his wire framed glasses. “Twenty pence.”

“It was sixteen two weeks ago!” Theo can’t contain his outburst and Mr. Singer practically growls.

“I need them for my buttons, devil. Take it or leave it.” There’s twenty one silver pieces in Theo’s pocket, and he places twenty of them on the counter with a shaking hand. He had planned to buy a ribbon for Rosaline with the extra five before Mr. Singer had decided to swindle him. 

“You could take four from me.” Peter’s voice is quiet and kind and Theo has to clench his fists at his side so that he doesn’t turn around and punch him in his perfectly straight nose. “If you wanted-”

“Say-” Theo’s voice is shaking and he grabs the buckhorn out of Mr. Singer’s hand, “Say nothing else to me.” 

Peter’s mouth shuts with an audible click, teeth worrying at his bottom lip. Rosaline tries to take Theo’s hand, but he can’t bring himself to grip it, only stare into Peter’s horribly green eyes. “Theo-” It’s barely a whisper, but Theo shoves past him hard.

“Go home, Rose. I’ll come visit you next week.” He kisses her knuckles, quick and closed off. Rosaline pouts but gives him a brief hug and waves to Peter before leaving. Theo turns on his heels and attempts to pull his scarf over his nose, but Peter grabs his hand. 

Theo doesn’t know if he’s ever reacted so quickly to someone touching him in his life. He grabs his hand away like he’s been burned, “What is _wrong_ with you?” 

Peter holds his hand to his chest, “I just wanted to help, I thought we could-” 

“Could what?” Theo’s eyes burn with the threat of tears, “You don’t want to help me and you don’t want to be my friend, so what? You want free magic? You want to get close to the witch's’ son so you can see what sort of dark evil goes on in her house?” 

“No, I-” Peter holds his hands slightly outward, like he’s going to receive Theo into a friendly embrace.

“Why can’t you all just leave me alone? I know they’ve already told you about me, but to be _so_ cruel-” Theo’s voice is thick with anger and hurt and his vision blurs, “I’ve done nothing to you, _nothing_. Just let me be. Please.” His voice breaks on his plea and his cheeks are hot with shame at each tear that rolls down them. To show such weakness in front of another boy from the town. 

Peter swallows, blinking rapidly at Theo, and his mouth twists in a lopsided frown, “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize- I should’ve been more sensitive too- I’m sorry.” Theo rubs the tears from his face hurriedly and Peter watches him, “They did tell me about you, but I’m not from Little Sleep. I don’t think like they do.” Theo levels Peter with a glare and barks out a short humorless laugh. He’s about the leave the main road, and hideous entirety of the the village in his dust when Peter calls out, “I’m like you!” 

‘Magic’ is the first thought that comes to Theo’s mind, but it’s not correct. He knows when he’s talking to another witch. He takes a deep breath. “That’s- great for you, Peter. If you go into Trader’s Town, there’s plenty of boys there that you can kiss behind the pubs.” 

Peter knits his eyebrows together, hands twisted awkwardly in the front of his apron. “I wasn’t going to try and kiss you.” He says quietly and then shakes his head, “Not that there’s anything wrong with you- I mean- What I mean is-”

Theo holds up his hands, “It really doesn’t matter-”

“My mother is a witch too!” The florist looks like he’s in pain, bottom lip draw between his teeth like he’s biting back another outburst. His dark hair threatens to fall in his eyes and he pushes it off his forehead with shaking fingers. “She was a witch. She passed away last year and my dad left before I was born, that’s why I came to live with my aunt and uncle.”

Thunder rolls, muffled in the distance, and Theo squints against the setting sun. His stomach is twisted up uncomfortably, and he addresses Peter’s shoes. “I don’t know if I should believe you.”

He doesn’t say it with much conviction and Peter recognizes that, “I get why you wouldn’t, and I must be honest with you, my reasons are selfish. I wanted to be close to someone else with magic again.” He grins crookedly and Theo rolls his eyes.

“Are you always this much of an oversharer?” 

Peter laughs, and Theo hates what a lovely sound it is, “By my very nature.” 

Theo takes a deep breath, “I guess- I guess you can come by tomorrow. I have leaves to press and you could help me identify them.” Peter practically drops his broom, “You do know how to tell your plants apart, correct?” 

Peter nods like an over eager child, “Oh, yes, absolutely. I studied for years!” 

Theo wants to be annoyed by his presence, but he finds himself twisting his mouth into an awkward frown in an attempt to hide a grin, “Alright, Love.” Peter turns an impressive shade of red, “That’s your surname, isn’t it?” 

It says it on the window front of the flower shop, and Peter glances at it before rubbing the back of his neck, “Sabry, actually.” 

Theo hums, picking at the frayed edges of his scarf, “What is that?” 

Peter runs the bristles of his broom over the toe of his work boot and tells him “Egyptian” In a tone quiet enough that Theo almost doesn’t hear it. 

“See you tomorrow.” He says, and pulls his scarf over his nose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey come hang out with me on tumblr! inkandowl.tumblr.com


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